


Soulbound

by Skullharvester



Series: One-Shots (Warcraft) [1]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: M/M, Warlock - Freeform, felguard - Freeform, redemption story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:23:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27180361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skullharvester/pseuds/Skullharvester
Summary: The story of an elven warlock and his felguard.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Series: One-Shots (Warcraft) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2120205
Comments: 6
Kudos: 7





	Soulbound

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy and have fun!
> 
> If you liked this tale, please drop me a kudos and/or a comment to let me know if you'd like to see more!
> 
> Thank you, and have a wonderful night!

* * *

The fel-infused blood elf – fel elf, he supposed now (it was funny to think how many times demonic taint had changed the former high elf) – dipped his hands once again into the moonwell, his body now trained to ignore the singeing pain from the holy waters as they touched his cursed flesh.

He took the felcloth out of the water, turned it around delicately, and let it fall back inside, watching as the inky blackness that covered it seeped out and disappeared entirely as slowly, but surely, the cloth was becoming cleansed of its corruption. Once, he recalled one of the night elven priestesses here at the Felwood druidic encampment telling him that one day, the well might deem him worthy enough that his own corruption might wash away similarly.

He said to her with a sly grin that he must have been very corrupt indeed if, after turning hundreds of pieces of felcloth into mooncloth, there was still no change, aside from the lingering burn marks that came up to his elbows. She didn’t find his joke as funny as he had, but priestesses almost never had a sense of humor.

As he watched the cloth he was tending to now turn from a purple-black to purple-white, he thought of his days spent as a mage in the magical city of Dalaran, back when he was still a high elf. He dwelled on the good memories there, wondering for the umpteenth time if he regretted ever leaving behind what he had. 

He never knew how good he had it until it was gone. All his needs were taken care of, he had powerful connections, he was on the track to becoming an archmage for his talents in fire magic, and most importantly, Dalaran was where he met the gnomish mage he liked to call his sister: Shiraia.

But if he had never left to become an adventurer, or more accurately, to become a warlock, just as the forbidden tomes he’d read in Dalaran’s libraries had tempted him to do, he never would have met his demonic companion and lover: the felguard named Erakshak, or Eric, as he’d come to nickname him for his desire to become mortal. Eric sounded more like a mortal name, after all.

Ironically, the two had met in this very forest, years ago. The elf wanted his very own demon minion, but he was not content with imps or voidwalkers. No, he wanted a felguard, for they were a sign of power. Only skilled warlocks could bind a felguard’s soul to their own, and if he could excel quicker than most of his peers at fire magic, then why should he wait to capture a felguard for his own as lesser warlocks had to?

Of course, it didn’t end as he expected. He snuck right into Jaedenar, got sniffed out by one of their felhounds that caught onto his magical aura, and was thrown right into a cage with the intent of interrogating him as to why he was there, and then no doubt to use him as a sacrifice or living magical battery later.

Incidentally, the guardian of his prison was a felguard and the resident felhound handler. At first, Erakshak was not keen on having a conversation. The elf would try to strike one up or occasionally make a humorous comment, but the felguard simply ignored his efforts, acting as if he wasn’t even there while he sharpened his axe or tended to one of the felhounds that often tried to snap at the elf’s ankles through the bars of the cage. Sometimes, when the elf was being particularly annoying, Erakshak would let them for a while, until they got too vicious.

But after the felguard had a particularly bad day – he had some kind of argument with a couple of the other demons, the elf noticed from afar, when the elf tried once again to speak with him, he was much more receptive and went so far as to vent all of his frustrations about his lot in life, confessing that he was mistreated and that his deeds were never rewarded sufficiently by the Burning Legion.

That was when the elf proposed that he be let out of the cage, and that they run away together, to start a new life and see all of Azeroth – perhaps more. The felguard couldn’t believe he was willing to even listen to the proposition, but after a great deal of thought, found himself reaching for the keyring on his belt to unlock the cage.

They’d been together ever since, on the run from the Legion, but happy in each other’s company.

How did they end up here as prisoners of the night elves? Well, they turned themselves in, of course. There came a time in everyone’s life when they needed to retire, and though they’d only been on the run for a little over a decade at best, the pair had their fill of adventure – enough to last their incredibly long lifetimes.

And besides, Erakshak was starting to worry about his lover; over time, the elf was sinking further and further into demonic corruption, and it was sickening his mind and body. Perhaps the felguard was too lenient on letting the warlock do whatever he wanted, so long as it made him happy. He regretted his own lack of courage to put his foot down years ago. He knew firsthand how miserable the life of a demon was for himself, so why did he expect it to go any better for his partner? That’s what the elf was now. He was less an elf, and more of a demon himself.

“Aurin,” the felguard called for the elf. “Aurinium,” he tried again when he wasn’t heard the first time, as the elf was too lost in his thoughts.

Aurinium peered up from the moonwell, pulling the fresh mooncloth out of it and slipping it into the empty basin at his side. “Hm?”

“The night elves want us to join them in prayer,” said Erakshak, tilting his head towards the growing circle of elves, dryad, keepers of the grove, and a few tauren that collected underneath the greatest tree in the encampment.

“Eugh,” grumbled the warlock, but he knew he had no say in declining the offer. 

He dried his hands off before accepting the gauntleted hand that the felguard stretched out to him and got to his feet with a grunt as he was tugged upward. He had to hold onto his partner’s arm for support, as he’d nearly toppled over. 

Without demonic energies, he was becoming weak. So weak. It was hard to do anything but kneel at the moonwell all day anymore.

Erakshak looked around to make sure they weren’t being watched, then with the clawed tip of his gauntlet, pierced a vein bulging out of his bicep, allowing the elf to drink only a little of his demon blood. He felt guilty about this every time he did it, but knew that the night elves were being unreasonable when they demanded that Aurinium abstain entirely; he could die, and neither he nor the elf trusted that “Elune would provide” as the night elves promised.

Aurinium wiped all traces of blood away from his mouth before they went to join the prayer circle, never letting go of the demon’s arm for a moment.

Their lives were not perfect and every day was a struggle, but so long as they had each other, they wanted for nothing.


End file.
